On This Day

Typically sadness taints the day of March 24th ... first in 1995, and subsequently every year since. Last year marked 25 years since dad died. It was also the year I reached the point of having lived longer than he had. And maybe that's all I needed ... a good quarter century of recurring grief to really see it through.

Because today was ok.

A lot of people who I love and admire opt for more gentler terminology for death, but I always say "Dad died." Because that's what it feels like to me. "Transitioned to heaven" sounds like it was a glide or pivot,  "went home" betrays my very real feelings of fatherlessness, and even "passed away" feels well-mannered and faint.

He died. He was alive and fun and wise and sarcastic and kind, and then, in an instant, he was not. He was not old. He was not sick. He was breathing and talking one moment, and then suddenly, he was not.

I know his soul lives forever and has merely "passed away" from this broken world. I believe he has "gone home", and because he lived his life with Christ's Kingdom as his aim, it could be said that he simply "transitioned to heaven".

But I also believe there is truth and beauty in the idea that "he died".

Every March 24th, the scenery outside is splotched with vibrant shades of green. Fields and lawns beam fresh and lovely. Trees flaunt foliage on limbs that are dotted with bright new buds. Flowering plants convincingly hint of bountiful things to come.

But in these same places, not long ago, there was death. A tearing away and a breaking down only to recede into cold, hard, darkness.  It was expected to some degree and unavoidable. Necessary even. And I'm ok with that.

Because winter isn't the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes. Death precedes life in the truest sense.

For a follower of Jesus, one's own death is not a problem or concern. The apostle Paul claimed to much prefer it over life. But for friends and family, death, no matter how slow or startling, is tragic and overwhelming. There is a cosmic pause in which reality seizes and spews unrestrained until real time resumes and you become painfully aware that the pressurized facts and emotions have caused your own heart to rupture ... though it relentlessly beats within.

And yet, we do not grieve like those who have no hope. We know the truth. Death is not the end. It is the silent beginning to all that flourishes forever.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” -John 11:25-26